Her Butler, Performance
by Madame Crimson
Summary: Short little one-shots of Madame Red and her butler, Grell Sutcliffe.
1. Her Butler, Singing

A/N: Hullo, everyone! I will be starting a compilation of Grell and Madame Red one-shots, and some will be terribly short, as this one is. Sorry about that!

These little ideas pop into my head at the spur of the moment, so I can't really write much with them, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

I usually use female pronouns for Grell, but it makes more sense to use male pronouns, as she is posing as Angelina's butler. If you have any questions, please PM me for answers, and I'll do my best.

The characters are probably OOC, but I tried my best, and anyway, I like writing Madame Red with an attitude.

You may give me a theme to write for a one-shot, and I will write it and post it if you send it to me either in a PM or as a review!

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Grell could sing quite well, Angelina knew that for a fact. Her butler would hum a song while dusting or preparing tea, and when she asked him what the song was, he would just shake his head and turn back to his work. He made it clear that he felt embarrassed over his singing voice, the way he hides it around anyone other than his mistress. Whenever she would attempt to compliment him on it, Grell would just blush and become shy. Now, this was odd, because around Madame Red, he would drop the butler performance and become his normal, flamboyant self. Only when it came to singing did he actually act timid.

On many nights, Angelina was extremely bored. She would be finished with papers, and have no mail to read, and parties were ever only hosted on weekends. The Madame would sit in her study, trying to look productive, while keeping herself from dozing off. This evening was uneventful in itself, and she fuddled around, trying to find something to do. Grell was nowhere to be found, and he hadn't took it upon himself to lighten up his mistress's spirits. When she got tired of the tedium in her dimly lit study, she got up and straightened out her back. Angelina wasn't especially fond of sitting in a chair and addressing letters, or some boring act of the like, for hours on end, and it made her quite stiff.

She found herself wandering throughout the halls, searching for her butler. He wasn't in his room, or her's, and she'd went outside to see if he was sitting in the garden, which was where he prefered to be, if not in her arms. Finally, Angelina found Grell sipping a cup of tea, on one of the sofas in the salon. He sat cross-legged and looked relaxed, with a slumped posture and a tipsy smile. Grell wore his regular red and black heels, ditching the boots he had to wear as part of his disguise, which he did sometimes when he got tired of not being significantly taller than Madame Red. The ribbon he wore around his neck was thrown to the side of him, and he'd unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. The shinigami had shook out his hair to it's normal spiky body and deep scarlet color.

"I thought you'd come looking for me, sooner or later." Grell mused, tapping his fingernails against the china tea-cup.

"Get that stupid smile off your face. It's only because I was bored." Angelina sat down next to him with a huff.

"That's what you say." The butler laughed.

Madame Red took the cup from him and took a sip, immediately puckering her lips from the sour and strong taste of alcohol on her tongue.

"Good God! This isn't tea, Grell!" She exclaimed with distaste, pushing the tea-cup back into her butler's grasp.

"No, it is tea. Chamomile, with two shots of gin!" Grell grinned as he took a sip, winking at Angelina.

The woman stared at him in shock. "Well, that is utterly horrible!"

"I'm disappointed, Madame. A woman like you should be able to down this without a shiver!"

A wicked smile danced upon his lips as he took another sip.

"You know what, Grell?" She asked, looking over at him.

"Whatever could it be, Madame?" He slurred, meeting her gaze.

"Sing me a song. Make it your favorite." Angelina ordered. She took the tea-cup from his hands and placed it on the table.

Grell's cheeks turned a rosy pink, as she expected it would. "I don't know any songs."

"Oh! Don't give me that nonsense, you sing songs all the time when you think I'm not listening!" Angelina raised her eyebrows.

It was Grell's turn to scowl. "I don't want to slur the words."

"For goodness sake, it's only two shots. I'm disappointed in you, Grell. A man like you should be able to down this without slurring your words!" She mocked.

"I've had about three cups, and if I can calculate correctly, that's six shots!" The butler defended, hiccupping once or twice from the alcohol.

"But, please do this for me," Madame Red begged, flashing him her infamous, flirtatious big eyes.

She snuggled into Grell, wrapping her arms around his waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"Well, I suppose I could. For something in exchange." He uncrossed his legs and draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"Anything, name your price." Angelina smiled.

"A kiss, I think, would do." He replied.

"You've got a deal."

Grell drew in a breath, but it wasn't sharp or quick. He took in air as if he would convert it into the most beautiful sound the Madame would ever hear. And, he did. Angelina would have been stunned the way he sang, since his speaking voice was loud and pitchy, but it sounded just like when he hummed. It was deep and soft, right on tune and not at all messy. She could tell that he had sung it many times before, and he didn't slur any of the words, regardless of the six shots of gin he'd drunken. Madame Red couldn't recognize the words to belong to any song she'd heard before, but the way he sang them made her feel as if she'd heard it a million times over. Grell's voice had a melancholy feel, that or Angelina was just being sentimental.

Suddenly, the song stopped, and Grell sighed.

Angelina soon found her voice and a wide smile spread across her face. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

Grell shrugged and pulled himself from her embrace, sitting up again. He took the tea-cup from the table and downed the rest, trembling as the liquid travelled down his throat.

"That," he started, setting down the now empty tea-cup, "Is terribly strong."

Angelina chuckled. "Yes, it is."

Grell turned towards his mistress. "Now, what about my side of the deal?"

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A/N: I suppose what happens next is your choice. :p Please review and tell me how I did! Thanks!


	2. Her Butler, Winning

**Author's Note: **Hello, everyone! I am still alive, yes. After quite a long hiatus, perhaps three months or so, I am back with another piece with our favorite crimson madams. I know that I should be working on my other fanfic, 'The Tale of Grell the Shinigami', but I really have had no muse these past few months to continue it, so I might leave it unfinished until I do find the motive to finish it, or at least work on it some more. I wouldn't get your hopes up though, sorry about just leaving you there, guys.

In this second addition to my compilation of my Madame Red and Grell bits, with this little one-shot, it is not in any way connected to the first one-shot.

For this, I will use she/her pronouns for Grell, which seems appropriate, even though in the other one I used he/him pronouns, I think this one really does somewhat focus a little on her gender, so I wanted to respect that. You may not agree with my pronoun usage of she/her pronouns for Grell, but please keep your opinions to yourself. You are totally allowed to believe differently then me, but respect my choice as I respect yours, thank you! If you have any questions about this subject, please ask me over messaging, I'll do my best to explain.

It takes a bit of backstory, here. Angelina does mention Grell being dead, and yes, to me, shinigami are dead mortals, and in the afterlife they are shinigami. If, of course, that makes absolutely any sense to you all? If you have any questions about this theory, Ann-Catz does explain it better, because it was originally her own idea, and I've adopted the mindset because it makes for a more interesting species, don't you think? I can attempt to explain myself, and if you'd like to directly ask me questions, please message me, and again, I'll do my best.

I will take requests for one-shots, once again, if you'd really like to see a scene with Angelina and Grell, and perhaps you think I'd do it somewhat some justice, you may suggest it in a review, or you may message me, whatever you decide is okay with me. c:

So, here it is, enjoy and thank you for reading! I understand it's horridly short, sorry for that. I'll try to write more, next time!

* * *

It was deathly quiet throughout the manor, and that's what usually made Madame Red uncomfortable about living in a house so large. She felt smaller then she usually would, and the silence made her think of things she rather wouldn't. It filled up her ears and fogged up her head, and she thought of the red underneath her eyelids and hot blood across her face, with a tall redhead cursing when she couldn't curl her hair, balancing a glass of wine between her thumb and index finger. This was late at night, and Grell was crying because she couldn't fit into one of Angelina's corsets, and the woman realized now that the shinigami is less of a drama queen then she thought, and she was making such a fuss because that sort of thing was something she had gotten fed up with her whole life. Angelina tried to assure her butler that she had very beautiful hair, and Grell just laughed, telling her that Annie did, too.  
No, she'd rather not think of that.  
It was quiet, and she tried to think of something good that came out of the silence. It was peaceful, and she would just worry about it later. Angelina's eyes shot open, and she realized she had her eyes closed the whole time, which was what reminded her of the red beneath her eyelids. No, it was the silence. What did she have to worry about that she would save until later to mess with? She was sitting at the head of her long table, with her elbows propped up on the surface, resting her chin on her palms and fingertips brushed her hair back from her eyes. There was a vase of red spider lilies centered on the table, and she knew that Grell put the vase exactly so in that place, because it would annoy Angelina to no end. It was a quiet battle between the two, because Grell knew that Angelina preferred the vase to be just to the right, and the butler preferred the vase to be exactly centered, and each time they both passed by it, they would change it to their own preferences. To be frank, the woman was too exhausted to adjust the vase and step back to see if it was just so, and go back to adjust again. The spider lilies quivered for some reason, and a shiver ran up Angelina's spine. There must be a draft in the dining room. She watched the flowers shake, and noticed that she was shaking herself, her fingers trembled and she whispered for them to stop this instant, but she remembered that fingers can't hear things.  
The spider lilies. Why were they important again? Oh, she remembered. He said her hair was like spider lilies, and that was odd, because the flowers were beautiful and her hair was a horrid joke of nature. Why was the flaming red curse like flowers? Maybe she loved him because he made her feel alive. It's always dangerous when someone makes you feel alive, because they have power over you that you should have yourself, and she knew it was destructive. Maybe she was doing this because he was never hers, and she was trying to find something destructive to be her own. She it would destroy her, and she didn't really mind. It was quiet. Where was Grell?  
Madame Red noticed her fingers were quite pale, and wondered why she drank vinegar when she was young to achieve this complexion, and was wondering why she still drank vinegar when she was a doctor and knew it wasn't healthy, nothing she did was healthy. Out of the corner of her eye, Grell pulled out a chair next to her and sat down, slumping her shoulders and saying something Angelina couldn't hear. The woman looked up to find her crimson butler gesturing toward the vase, and remembered how to hear.  
"I won, Angie." Grell smirked, her red lips tipping up at the corners.  
When they weren't expecting company, the shinigami would paint her nails and wear her normal heels, and she would put on Angelina's lipstick and wear her hair the shade she loved the most. Today, it was grey outside and quiet in the manor, and Grell's eyes were wide and her pupils were dilated. Something was going on in her head, and the Madame couldn't begin to guess what it was.  
"Yes, you did. I find that life means more then a vase of spider lilies." Angelina said.  
She spoke almost without thinking, and a clever answer sounded better then no answer at all.  
"Life means nothing." Grell replied, tilting her head to the side.  
"Easy for you to say. You're dead." Madame Red sniffed, glancing from the flowers to Grell's face.  
"Right." The shinigami nodded, confirming Angelina's statement.  
"Is it better being dead?" The woman asked, sighing.  
"I can't tell." Grell shrugged, with the same stupid smile on her face.  
"You're a lot of help. I'm going to end up dead one day, and I'd like to know if it will be terrible."  
"Everyone's experience is different. My problems haven't gone away, and now I must live with them forever. I suspect you will be the same way. You can't run away from things when they're as dead as you are. They bury you with them. I was buried in a suit, Madame Red. Buried with my demons. You will be buried without a womb and a knife in your cold hand." Grell shook her head, running her fingers through her hair, combing them through thick crimson locks.  
"It's quiet, isn't it?" Angelina said softly.  
"What, death?"  
"The manor. It's quiet on Tuesdays."  
"Yes, it is. What's wrong with you today, Madame?"  
"I'd like to know the answer; what's wrong with me in general?"  
Grell sighed, and placed her own hands over Angelina's. The woman realized that her hands were still shaking, even after the company of her butler. The shinigami might've sighed again because her hands were too big against Madame Red's, that they weren't delicate and small like a normal lady's, but she decided to ignore it.  
"I don't believe anything is wrong with you in general. You're just lost, and by some twisted fate, you found me. You aren't lost anymore."  
Angelina got up from her chair, pulling her hands out from under Grell's. "I think I'm still lost."  
She bent over to kiss Grell's cheek, and strode out of the room. Maybe there was paper work she still hadn't found on her desk, yet.  
"That's all I get?" The shinigami called, not even to Angelina in particular, not really wanting anyone to hear.


End file.
